The Untouchables:Those who are Unloved
by flurobandaid
Summary: Tom and his two foster-sisters mean everything to each other. What made the sweet boy become a monster? AN: There is mention of racism, rape and murder in this fic. Set in the 1930's
1. Default Chapter

A/N: This takes place before Tom is evil and murderous.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters i.e.: Tom Riddle, Grindelwald, etc.  
  
Written by flurobandaid aka Megan. The Untouchables: Those who are Unloved.  
  
Chapter 1: Tom's Girls.  
  
Sitting in the warm sunshine, their backs against the wall of the old, rundown orphanage, two sixteen- year-old girls chatted happily in the cool September morning. One of them had skin the colour of cocoa and a mass of thick, jagged curls. The other had a golden tan, most probably from sitting in the sun every morning since February. Hers' was short and red, framing her fairy-like face. Anabel and Torri. Tom's girls. He had grown up with Ana at the home. Both had been there since before they could walk. Torri, short for Miatorrivin, had come when she was nine, back in 1935. Tom could still remember her screams as they dragged her in. He could not remember her ever being weak in the time that he'd known her. She'd never cry. It was just in her nature to be strong, but still extremely loving, especially for someone who had never been loved before. The employees and the other children at the home were just like the public, extremely racist. Their attitude towards Ana had been cold and because Tom and Torri were like her family, they had been mistreated too.  
  
Tom sat down with them and they turned towards him, smiling.  
  
"We've got a new one," he informed them about the home's newest addition. "She can't even walk yet."  
  
Ana nodded. "My half-sister, Jessica. Our mama can't bear to keep us," she paused. "You know the story."  
  
Tom nodded to show his understanding. Their mother was slowly dying from some new disease and didn't want her children to love her when she died because of the pain they would suffer. He thought it very brave, dying without anyone loving you. His mother had done exactly that. Torri, on the other hand, had been raised by her alcoholic and abusive father - her mother had left them before her second birthday. When child services finally came she was nine and almost ready to start magic, but she had also decided she was tired of doing what other people said. Tom and Ana were always careful to ask instead of tell her what she could do.  
  
Turning back to them, Tom grinned again and pulled a small package wrapped in brown paper from the pocket of his coat. He passed it to Torri who frowned at him in confusion. "Happy Birthday," said Tom. "September 6."  
  
Torri looked down at the present as she took it from him. Staring up at him, she breathed, "How'd you know, Tom?"  
  
He didn't answer. "Open it," he told her. Torri's smile faltered slightly. Tom, noticing, stroked her cheek gently. "Please?"  
  
Torri relaxed and grinned at him, her fingers trembling as they took the paper off.  
  
"You know, this is the first time anyone has ever given me something for my birthday," she said as she discarded the paper to the ground. It was a necklace charm shaped as a unicorn. Holding up into the sunlight, she whispered how beautiful it was. "It's just like a miniature of the baby ones that Professor Kettleburn has for Care for Magical Creatures."  
  
Sitting up off the wall, Ana stared forwards. "I think he said we get to ride them this year because they won't be babies anymore. Unicorns do mature faster than horses after all."  
  
"Unicorns must be wonderful to ride. You'd probably just let your soul slip away into the wind as you gallop away in their magic," breathed Torri, her eyes glazing over.  
  
Tom knew that look. It was Torri's expression that she used when imagined something she thought or knew she'd ever have. He though over her words again. "Let your soul slip away into the wind." Freedom. Being able to get away from everything. He could barely imagine it.  
  
The thought of just being untouched by anything intrigued him and he was sure his girls felt the same way about it.  
  
Tom took his wand from his pocket and while his girls watched on in interest he whispered an incantation he had learnt from a friend at school. Two shimmering cords of green flew from his wand and settled on each girl's hair like a halo. The instant Tom put his wand down the shimmer vanished leaving crowns of pink flowers and leaves.  
  
"Thanks, Tom," said Ana. She took her own wand out, it was old and battered - her mother had left it with her fifteen years before. "The Ministry is possibly going to increase the age of legal wand use to seventeen."  
  
Torri glanced at her. "They won't. They'll probably lower it to fourteen. Imagine if Grindelwald just showed up somewhere and you don't have your wand. The war only just began last year and already half the army has been killed. The Ministry still thinks that Grindelwald is after money. It's a bit obvious that he isn't."  
  
"What, then?" asked Ana.  
  
"Power," said Tom absently. "Being able to control everything by his will alone. His soul has been drenched in hatred of opposition and fear of his own failure to the extent that he is unbeatable. If no wizard stops him he will go insane."  
  
No one said anything. In the minutes that passed the only sound was the ticking of Tom's watch. Ana stood suddenly.  
  
"I'm going to the library," she said, brushing the dirt of her ankle-length skirt.  
  
Tom looked up at her, shielding his eyes from the sun that lingered above her. "Surely not on such a lovely day as this one?"  
  
Ana smiled wistfully. "Being such a lovely day no one will be in the library so they won't realise that I'm dirtying it." That was all she was to the disgusting people that lived and worked at the home. Dirty and absent of virtue because her skin was bereaved of the light that made brown skin white. That was what the orphanage's caretaker had said of her. Tom knew it had come from the poem 'The Little Black Boy" by William Blake. He had said nothing at the time of the insult, but knew that Blake was an abolitionist and the poem was anti-racist. The caretaker would have refused to believe that an orphaned child would be correct anyway. Tom being correct when he was worth nothing to a world of Muggles who could not see further than skin and into one's soul? It was just unheard of.  
  
He sighed loudly when the dinner bell hollered through the orphanage. He was hungry and was sure Torri was too. Neither of them had eaten that day. Instead they had just sat against the wall waiting for the night to return.  
  
After he ate Tom went to the bathrooms to shower. He really did not look forward to his daily shower. No one wanted to pay for the water to be heated so it was always cold enough to make teeth chatter. Cursing, Tom stepped under the cascading water and gritted his teeth. Goosebumps spread over his skin like a wave. Almost as fast as he had gotten in he jumped back out again. He dressed quickly because he couldn't bear to be naked in the cold air. He wasn't scared of being seen. The other boys used the bathroom downstairs because it was closer to their dorms. Placing his wand in the pocket of his jeans he exited the bathroom. Warmth radiated from one of the dull kerosene lamps that hung on the walls. He was about to go to the lounge to the fireplace when he heard a high- pitched scream come from the girls' dorm upstairs. He sprinted up the stair case and burst the door away with a flick of his wand. One of the employees was there, a hand clasped over Torri's mouth to keep her from screaming again. Torri looked at Tom desperately and tried to fight the man off her. Tom was too astounded to do anything. Torri's brown skirt was torn rigidly down her leg and her blouse had been ripped open - the little white buttons lay scattered on the floor. The man just stared at the door, horrified. Finally, Tom managed to think straight. He turned his wand on the man whose eyes fell on it, petrified, as he trembled violently. Tom's voice rang through the silence coldly. "Never touch the sisters of Tom Riddle. Take your hands off her now and I mightn't kill you."  
  
The man gave a scared whimper as he quickly took his hand from Torri's mouth and the retreated the other which had been fastened around her waist. As he scarpered towards the door Tom looked back to Torri. Their eyes met and Tom could see the fear in Torri's liquid amber eyes. Suddenly realising that her blouse was open, Torri quickly pulled it together and folded her arms over it. Tom looked her over, his eyes falling on a series of bruises that must have been more than a day old. It hit him suddenly that this had not been the first time. He whipped around without thinking and pointed his wand directly at the employee who had just reached the doorway. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" he roared and there was a flash of bright green light and a loud thud when the employee hit the floor. With his wand still pointed at the dead man, Tom muttered another incantation and the body disappeared out of sight. That was the first time he'd ever used the curse on a person. He'd done it thousands of times on spiders and mice but never on another human. He spat on the floor in disgust. Anyone low enough to rape an orphaned girl didn't deserve the title of a man.  
  
Turning back to Torri, Tom muttered a quick charm and the buttons on the floor flew back onto the blouse. Another wave of his wand and they did themselves up. "How often has this happened, Torri?" Tom's voice was flat and emotionless. There was a short silence. The girl quivered and whispered, "That was the seventh time." Avoiding her brothers' eyes she continued softly. "He did it to Ana as well. She tried to pull her wand out on him but she doesn't want to be expelled. Neither do I." Dread suddenly burst through Tom. He hadn't thought of that. He gulped. He had killed an unarmed Muggle. Even though it was in the defence of Torri, the Ministry wouldn't care. Hogwarts was his home and he couldn't bear the thought of being expelled -  
  
"Tom?" Torri's voice penetrated his thoughts.  
  
He looked up at her with the eyes of a desperate man in fear.  
  
"Why does this happen to us?"  
  
Tom looked away. He couldn't face that empty look that glazed over her beautiful eyes. It made her look so dull and sick.  
  
Torri continued in the same, morbid voice, "Do we really deserve this to happen to us?"  
  
Her breath rattled in her throat and Tom could hear her breathing from where he stood.  
  
"Do we deserve this because no one loves us, Tom? Because we are worth nothing to another soul?" Her gaze had met the ground but when she finally looked up at Tom, he could see her eyes were bloodshot and tears had left sticky trails down her cheeks. More followed. It was the first time she had ever cried, or indeed the first time Tom had ever seen her do it. Perhaps Ana had. Without warning she threw herself onto him and let him hold her. Resting his chin on her red-haired head, Tom told her, "I love you, Torri. You and Ana. Never say that no one does, because I do and you are both worth the world to me."  
  
They sat on her bed silently, watching the night become darker. Ana joined them later but soon she and Torri fell asleep, leaving Tom to watch the stars fade as the light of morning grew to bring out the sun that would shine on them that day. Shine on Tom and his girls. 


	2. Chapter2 The Tears of Sanity

The moment that he had dreaded came halfway through the tenth hour of the next morning when the sun was bright enough to light the remorse grey in the clouds that painted over the blue of the morning sky. A brown owl with feathers that gleamed in the sunshine flew Tom and the girls as they sat against the wall. They had been there since breakfast, which was just as dull and tasteless as ever. Ana sat against the wall, her dark legs gleaming in the light, as she looked up at the owl emotionlessly. Tom gulped and summoned the letter from the owl as it perched itself proudly on one of the trees in the garden. Tom opened the letter with numb fingers and he could feel himself trembling with dread.  
  
I Dear Mr. Tom M Riddle, We have awareness that you performed the Avada Kedavra Curse at approximately 10.49 pm last night on an unarmed Muggle in a Muggle inhabited estate. The severity of this infringement of the Decree for the Concealment of Sorcery and the breach of the Decree of Murder Involving Magic generally results in the expulsion of students and their relocation to Azkaban. However, We have further intelligence that the curse was performed in the means of defence for Miss. Miatorrivin Jameson. We are also aware of your heroic act in the rescue of Miss. K. Derrings and Miss. L. Parker in the previous year. Your outstanding achievements and position you fulfil has brought to our attention that a wizard such as yourself would decline to use an Unforgivable Curse without the appropriate consideration and explanation. Therefore, your violations have been evaded and you shall return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on the coming Sunday,  
  
Yours sincerely, Jennifer Manglecod Improper Use of Magic Office Ministry of Magic. /I  
  
Tom blinked. That was unexpected to say the least. Just because he sparked a couple of hexes at a Manticore that was cornering to squealing little second years last year and a bunch of certificates he escaped not only expulsion, but also Azkaban. He shuddered involuntarily at just the sliver of the thought of that place. Only witches and wizards who committed crimes of terror went their. Only they who were so drenched in hate and the thirst for revenge and the power to bring others fear, and the insanity to use their own abilities to control pain and the moments between life and death. Cold suddenly shot down his spine and his skin prickled. His face paled so quickly that he felt dizzy. Cold beads of sweat trickled down his face and arms and chest. The white shirt he wore stuck to his skin from the moisture. His clammy hands ran their fingers through his hair as he trembled with a feeling that was so new and unreal to him that he wondered if he had been hit with some kind of jinx. But no, that was not it. He knew what it was. And he was scared of his own guilt and of what he had committed. Murder. There was no way of denying it for the image of that man falling to the ground and the look of immortal fear and shock on Torri's face at that moment was so clear in his mind that he thought he could reach out and wipe that look off her face and leave a beaming smile on it. But he couldn't. And that made him feel worse. Not only had Torri been robbed of virtue and shadowed with melancholy and the emptiness that horror had left in place of happiness, but she had witnessed the death of a man. And that meant she could see the Thestrals. Seeing them was a simple reminder of death. However beautiful they were, with the gleam of their coats in the pale light of the moon, they were still reminders of the fragility of life, and of its briefness. Tom was sure Torri wasn't scared of death. He knew he wasn't. Or at least of his own. But to see it before his very eyes, to come from curse that slipped from his lips and tear a man's life from his very blood and skin... The thought made Tom sick in the gut. He was playing the role of someone – something – greater than he. And he surely had no right. Nor did he have the right to burden Torri with the grimness of murder. And that was all it was, because no other word meant what had happened. The boy looked down at his pale hands bitterly. They had held the wand responsible for a murder. What was he to do? Burn his wand and spit on the ashes? That would almost be like an insult to the death in the first place. And that would mean Torri was burdened with something worthless enough to spit on. And he would not let that happen to her. But he couldn't just give the life back. He had even transfigured the body into harmless gases and the spell was so complex he could never get it back. He looked back up at Torri, and could see the emptiness that hers and Ana's eyes held. And indeed he felt it too. He couldn't bear to see them so miserable, even with the lives they each led. He shifted next to Torri and his buried his face in the sleeve of her plain cotton dress. He could feel Ana's gaze of sorrow fall on him, and could easily detect the misery in every breath of Torri's that sifted through his hair. Tears that had been dwelling inside him since before he could remember slipped down his cheeks onto the white of Torri's dress. The bitterness he directed at himself washed away with every drop of emotion that flowed with his tears. And he vowed, then and there, to himself, that he would protect his girls from that piece of reality, for it was the part of reality that ripped away the sanity of human consciousness. 


End file.
